How shall I begin to capture the moments of my last six months ? I’m not sure how many times I’ve wanted to write about them, but I manage some words and have to start all over again at a different time. They say Nikolai Astrup, a painter from my birth place, left many pictures unfinished, and I see the same tendency myself. I have about 40 drafts on my blog and even when I publish something new, I’m haunted by the stories I wanted to share and write.

This weekend has been about traveling, both physically from one place to another and metaphorically from one memory and thought to another. I have loved sitting with my head against the bus-window with an audiobook on my ear, while I watch the Norwegian mountain in all their mighty colors. My mood has been very present the last week, and I owe that to several things: I am moving from one apartment to another, and changes always whirl up emotional dust. Another reason for ample emotional occurrences, is the endings and beginnings in relationships.

I’ve worked for over three years now and an right now in a phase where many of my clients have gotten better. Some therapies has come to an end, and like Andrew Solomon wrote about himself: Sometimes I am so afraid of loosing the present that I find it hard to move on. To follow people, either professionally or personally, a long time also means accepting that it must end. To say goodbye to individual stories, is emotional, even when you know it’s right.

I started my blog two years ago, when my ex left me. Still I feel knots inside when I remember what we had and what I could have done different. This week I saw him again for the first time in over 6 months. He was one of the main singers in a musical, with the title ‘c.r.a.z.y in love’. One of my best friends sat next to me, and put her hand upon mine as my tears streamed when he opened the show by sining ‘to really love a woman’. I hoped it would be un eventful, but I knew I had to go through it. I felt better after some songs, but found myself in a emotional turmoil the day after it ended. I was prepared for some reaction, and have let it come, practicing mindfulness and calm breathing. I have went through regret, memories and loneliness all over again, and the need to get answers has once more haunted my thoughts.

It’s started to get late. I am in my bad as I write and think about the last months. I can honestly say that I’m proud of myself: I’ve stood in difficult feelings and held my head up high. I’ve told myself I should be happy that I can love so deeply that
My cuts still hurt two years after the injury. I’d rather love with all off me than hide beneath the covers and feel nothing.

If you ask people: What do you regret most? The things you did or the things you didn`t do, they answer, with longing, the things they didn`t do. When looking back, the things you didn`t say or do, linger on. The silence can speaks so loud and haunt you in the quiet night. Luckily, many have tought me this valuable lesson, and today I can`t thank them enough. When the bridge bridge collapsed under my feet, they stood there as I rebuilt it, stone by stone. I didn`t always realize it since fog hid their beautiful faces, but I always recognized them in the end. They saved me enough to see and take an outstretched hand when I needed it.

Some didn`t have pillars of safety to stand on when they built their lives. So what about them? What about those who couldn`t let their tears flow when they wanted? How can I ever compare my experiences to that? The lack of scaffolding must feel like swimming without seeing land. “True”, you might say, but this can bring out incredible strength in people. “True”, I`d answer with a sad voice. “But it still drains their energy for such a long time”. “And what about those who lose their lives in the effort? How many had to let go right before they reached the shore?

I have no answers, but I do have my ability to ask since they didn`t take that away from me. My gift is to give back what I got to show my appreciation and gratitude. I`ll promise to give as much as I got with the warmth of this truth energizing me forever.

Who knows? One day one of them might feel as touched as me when I stretch out my hand and they take it. What if they one day get the chance to think like I do? In an integrative blender my thoughts and feelings have intermingled until this simple truth came out: If this isn`t nice, then I don`t know what is.

Back and forth. I try to suppress it, but it keep resurfacing like a cork in the water. I let my hands take another crawl, and think: Just let it go. Just let your thoughts work for themselves. But it sticks, like glue going wild.

They say that sometimes the wrong foot touches the floor in the morning, and you have a day less perfect than you wish for. I noticed this feeling immediately this morning, but I knew resisting it was meaningless. I wanted to have fun, but the day was not meant for fun. You can`t always get the day you want, or the mood you want, and I know this as life. I`ve been threading through days like these, many times before, and I will many times more. The best I can do, is let myself be, focus on what must be done rather on how much I don`t want to do it. But the claw sits in my stomach and my throat. I just want to be happy, but it won`t come.

I spent so many hours in their world, and therefore it scares me how little I remember from all the plots and stories I`ve read. I have never been good at remembering things afterward, I cared more about the experience there and then. How it was to feel what they felt, how surprised I could be over certain ways to think, and how my heart would beat when something was dangerous. Emotions. They are still here. I don`t sit down to read, I just look at the covers and feel the emotions from the past tingling inside me.

It is so nice to see those books again. I couldn`t have brought back these memories and feelings on my own, no matter how hard I tried. I needed to see them physically to remember. I remember how I read a bit, put it down, and the happiness when I had time to sit down with it again. The sad stories, the horror storries and the romantic stories, they were all urging me to continue, to find out how it all would end.

It has been so many years. I still read my stories, especially biographies and nonfiction. I open the chest of history and look at it`s organs. I examine it, still, and while doing it I also realize how precious little time we have. How many stories will I hear, before I die? How many times will my heart feel joy when someone find their prince charming? How much rage will be motivating me because I hear stories about abuse and suffering? I need to dive in it, and I need to feel. But sometimes I must also remind myself that my own story needs content. It needs feelings and people and thoughts. It needs insights, hurts and happy endings.

Where am I right now? Still sitting and waiting for my family in the home where I grew up. Soon my two small (energetic) brothers will fill the rooms with laughter and babbling. I love it and I love them. And maybe I will find my own love, soon? Maybe in some years times it will be me who looks at our children, and feel happiness swell in my chest? I am ready to grab my story, lift it up and carry it with me whereever I go.

Yesterday I put all my energy in a cup. I had a clear image of how the energy looked: Colorful, pulsing and vivid. It sparkled in its entire splendor, barely contained by the cup`s wall. I was happy. Happy that I could do what I wanted, without anyone noticing or scolding me. My total freedom to see and dream and live, threatened to overflow the boundaries of what I thought was possible. I thought: So what? If sparkling energy spills over, into the table, out in the environment, is that the worst thing that can happen? Or like Kurt Vonnegut would have said: If this isn`t nice, I don`t know what is.

I work as a psychologist and really want to do something for people out there. That is the reason that I started a blog with the purpose of spreading important information about psychology to others. You`ll find it by following this link

I like meeting new people. Feel free to contact me with feedback or with your story. The meaning of life is being with people, listening to their stories and learning something new from it. Always appreciate your own story; There`ll never be a story completely the same as yours!You`ll find me at these social networks:

Can a man’s man really stay faithful to one woman for 23 years? With a parade of daily temptations? And with his friends egging him on? Joe Kita spills it.

I want to tell you a secret. It’s something I’m deeply proud of yet also ashamed of. It’s about being a man and about being less of one. It defines who I am while it defies who I am. It’s a dichotomy that’s difficult for even me to understand.

How I feel about this secret depends on who I’m with. Alone, or with my wife and family, I feel pride. But with other men – co-workers, drinking mates – I’m often embarrassed. Even though it’s been 23 years, I’ve never admitted this to anyone – not even my wife. Then again, I’m sure she’s never seriously doubted me and will not be surprised by what I confess.

My secret is that for almost a quarter century, I’ve been faithful. Although I’ve lusted after many women, I’ve never slept with one, or left even a lingering kiss on a pair of expectant lips. I am successful. I am fit. I have money. I dress well and no, I’m not ugly. Yes, I’ve had opportunities. Yet…

That’s me you’ve seen in those sports-bar crowds, clinking pint glasses and clapping shoulders at sexual innuendo. That’s me you’ve overheard commenting on the foxy new intern. Yes, I think about it. Yet…

Those surveys that reveal how many husbands cheat on their wives (and vice versa), I’ve considered them all. I’ve been tempted by the idea that monogamy is outdated. Yet…

And of course there’s the blandness of the long-term relationship: seeing her in trackies scrubbing the toilet. Running out of things to say over dinner. Making love in the same position in the same room at the same time year after year. I crave excitement and variety. Yet…

…I’ve never cheated. And I haven’t admitted it because, well, men typically don’t do that. No matter how sensitive we’d like you to believe we’ve become, our brother-cliques still rely on bravado and conquest for acceptance. The minute we confess to not being on the chase, to turning our backs on our genetic drive to procreate, our gorilla chests start to shrink. It may sound small-minded, but that’s the way it is, at least in my world.

So why it is that I’ve never wandered? I have a few ideas.

I’ve never met a perfect 10

A colleague once told me: “If you’re going to cheat, do it with a perfect 10. Because when you get caught – and eventually you will – you’ll need to look back without regret.” I always thought that was good advice.

My ankle hurts in the morning

In his book Letters To My Son ,Kent Nerburn equates temptation with the time he broke his left leg:

“Whenever I feel a surge of attraction to a woman, I think of that leg… Being unfaithful snaps a relationship as surely as that fall snapped my bone. At first, it may seem like nothing. Over time, you may be able to mend the break so that the relationship is stronger than ever. But it is not healed. The scar remains and it will haunt you forever.”

I haven’t broken any limbs, but I’ve sprained my right ankle a few times. And it aches almost daily.

I’m drawn to a particular type

Whenever I’m attracted to another woman, I ask myself ‘why?’. Usually it’s because she’s tall, slim, brunette, amply endowed, vivacious, witty, and kind. These are all qualities my wife has. It’s made me realise that I’m naturally drawn to one type of woman. Why cheat with her twin?

I love my wife’s gnarly feet.

I once read an article by a bloke who cheated. Waking up next to his one-night stand, he immediately noticed her feet. They had been tucked into sexy black pumps the night before, but now they appeared big and manly and even had corns. He was so disgusted he fled. We forget that love camouflages faults. After 23 years, I know and love every part of my wife – including her feet.

I keep my word

I made a public vow to be faithful. And as the son of an ex-marine, I believe a man’s word should be unassailable. I’m talking about personal integrity here, a trait often muddied by politicians, athletes, CEOs, and sometimes even our own fathers. I may not have kept some of the little promises I’ve made, but I’ve kept the big ones, and I’m damn proud of that.

I married a perfect 10

I need to clarify my first reason. I have met a perfect 10, and I married her. And the reason I haven’t cheated is that I’ve never really wanted to. Although my wife and I have our differences, she is a great woman who deserves my fidelity. I may not always be able to give her my full attention or all the material things she wants, but I can give her this. And as the years go by, it becomes more precious.

Joe Kita has worked for the same company and had the same hairstyle for 23 years, too.

From Men’s Health Australia: 5 reasons men cheat and how to stay faithful